What The Water Gave Me: The Story of RAB
by celestialscribe
Summary: Regulus Black makes the decision to turn against his master, accepting death in the face of what he must do. This is inspired by Florence   the Machine's wonderful track, What the Water Gave Me, which expresses the sacrifice Regulus made perfectly.


Regulus stood at the heart of his bedroom at number 12, Grimmauld Place, the walls coated in newspaper cuttings, articles and photographs, all evidence of his admiration of the so called Dark Lord. He had respected his master, _worshipped_ him, but he'd been blinded by ambition and a desire to please his parents. He hadn't seen that which was right in front of him. Lord Voldemort had surpassed any wizard before him, transcending that which made him human; he was the epitome of evil, evident in his willingness to harm the one creature which had assisted him without question. _Kreacher_. When he learned of what the house elf had to report, Regulus was sickened to his very core. He had to swallow the taste of bile that filled his mouth as it struck him what this meant. Regulus knew a thing or two about dark magic. He knew what a horcrux was, and he was more than clever enough to recognise the signs. Regulus knew that if Voldemort were to take such precautious measures for the protection of a mere possession, than the war had taken a new turn, _not_ one to Regulus' liking. Screwing up his eyes in protest to the truth that unravelled before him, the truth that had been plastered to these very walls by his own hand, Regulus felt the first sting of shame pierce his heart.

_**T**__**ime it took us**_

_**To where the water was**_

All this time, it was right there in front of him, written in the bloodshot eyes that no longer spoke of human feeling, compassion or desires. The Dark Lord was hungry for power and knew no bounds. Someone had to stop him. But who knew? Who could possibly know that he was creating horcruxes but those he trusted most, those he mistook for being too ignorant, too _naive_. Who possibly knew besides himself? And so for the sake of everyone he loved, Kreacher, his parents, even Sirius who had abandoned them long ago, Regulus darted through the door and out onto the landing, leaving a piece of himself behind, the part of him that had sworn loyalty to the Dark Lord. He was through with this, through with his master, and if he could have carved the dark mark from his forearm he would have.

"Kreacher!" he cried, his voice ringing through the dark stairwell, resounding throughout the house. It possessed an anxiety that was entirely new to him, hindered by anguish at the fate that lay before him. But it was all he could do. He _had_ to do it. Kreacher came bounding towards him, a spring to his step that pained Regulus to witness. This elf was a kinder creature than any wizard Regulus had known. And yet he was utterly ignorant to the bitter truth of the situation, that the Dark Lord would have had him killed. That he was little more than a tool, cast aside once its usefullness had been outlived. But Voldemort had underestimated the house elf, just as he'd underestimated Regulus. Kreacher knew where the horcrux lay. "Take me to the cave," Regulus whispered, ignoring the confusion that crept upon the gawkish features of the elf. Diving a hand into the pocket of his robes he clutched the replacement locket firmly until its edges bit into his palm, before slipping his spare hand into Kreacher's. An anti-disapparition jinx was in place so as to protect the abode of the Black family which meant no wizard could disapparate beyond the walls of Grimmauld place. But a _house elf_ could. Regulus felt his stomach lurch and twist, the familiar surroundings of his home dissolving before his eyes. A mere breath later, he was greeted with a blast of cold, salty air that seemed to freeze his very bones; the cold laugh of Death as he mocked the boy who stumbled into his path.

_**And time goes quicker**_

_**Between the two of us**_

The thing about time is that it's never on one's side. Not quite an enemy, but not a comrade either. It is the jester which taunts the brave, driving them closer to that which they fear. As the boat drew further into the depths of the cave, Regulus wished time would simply cease altogether. The feeling as if his very surroundings were sucking life from all who entered was one he couldn't shake. As if to add insult to injury, time quickened. Regulus' heart pounded furiously in his chest in reflection of that cruel fact. It urged him to turn back, but it was too late for that. Its angry beats filled his ears, making the calm of the waters surrounding them only more deathly. Regulus could not allow his thoughts to drift to what lay beneath the placid surface. If his suspicions were correct, he wouldn't escape this cave without finding out one way or another. He'd come to realise his master exercised no restraints in his pursuit for power, and in doing so, realised with a bitter sting that there was no escaping this fate. Regulus had delved too deeply into his secrets; death was all that lay before him. He could almost smell it, the stink of decay; it was as if this very cave held each and every one of Voldemort's victims, screaming out for justice.

_**Oh, my love, don't forsake me**_

_**Take what the water gave me **_

Regulus drank. And drank again. Kreacher hesitated, an instinctive reflex to abandon his duty to his master when he saw he was causing him pain. Regulus felt as if a thousand knives were piercing his chest, claws tearing at his skin, his throat scorched. But it wasn't the pain that caused him to cry out, pleading with the elf to spare him another draught of the clear liquid. It was the thoughts that burned in his memory, memories of moments lost. The sound of the door slamming shut behind his brother as he left his world forever, the trouble that tore at his mother's features as she realised only one son remained, one son to bear the burden of two. Regulus sat huddled on the cold stone of the cave, almost collapsing in upon himself as he drew away from the cup which Kreacher held out to him. He could feel anguished words leaving his lips, the voice of a tortured soul, but he could barely make them out over the rush of regret that coursed through him. _Sirius was the better son, the better brother_.. Kreacher's eyes were dark orbs, faintly glowing in the eerie green light of the cave as he stared at his master. He clearly suffered an excruciation that almost matched Regulus', not quite comprehending all that was happening but discomfited by it none the less. Regulus' wand lay abandoned on the cold stone, but the locket, an heirloom passed on through the Black family, was still tightly clasped in one hand. It stood as a reminder of what Regulus needed to do if the Dark Lord was ever to be destroyed. Regulus' mind flitted back to the words within it, the note…

"_I know I will be dead long before you read this but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match you will be mortal once more." _

Death… It was almost something Regulus welcomed, as a release from the thoughts that plagued him, the disappointment at what he had become, the failure that was _Regulus Black_. His death, at least, would deliver him from that and more. Perhaps it would help the next man to cross this path defeat Voldemort when he could not.

"Last one, master Regulus," came the bullfrog tone of the house elf, handing him the cup before snatching the locket from the bowl. Regulus wanted to smile in encouragement, but his features would not obey, surrendering entirely to the magic of the potion as he gulped it down like a drowned man desperate for breath. He held out the old heirloom of the Black family, and Kreacher quickly took it to make the exchange. For just an instant, elf and man were one, equally filled with a sense of triumph having accomplished what they had set out to do. A sense of calm seemed to envelop Regulus, a feeling of redemption coursed through him, but it lasted for little more than a heart's breath before he felt it start to _truly_ kick in. _This is masterful_, Regulus thought bitterly before laughing like a madman, resembling his brother more than ever in his moment of courage. But he was quickly succumbing to the thirst, a force like nothing he'd ever felt before, striking him as sudden as lightning yet as potent as a fever.

_**Lay me down**_

_**Let the only sound**_

_**Be the overflow**_

_**Pockets full of stones**_

"Go home, Kreacher!" he commanded, his chest seizing as he struggled with his undeniable yearning for just a taste of the water that surrounded them. Kreacher disapparated with a _crack_ that split the air and echoed throughout the cave, heralding the finality of the moment. Regulus was utterly alone, for now at least. But he didn't seem to notice. His want for water raged through him, the only sound that filled his ears, his eyes seeing nothing but the water's surface. In lieu of what had occurred, the clear draught that chilled him to the bone, he saw not the sinister shapes that loomed in the depths of the water, instead merely obeying his thirst. It was like a Siren's call, beckoning him forward. Regulus drew closer, scrambling across the rough floor of the cave, his knees scuffed and his palms bleeding by the time he dipped a hand into the cool water. He'd only just brought his palms to his mouth, to sip the water that awaited him, when he saw it. A hand, the flesh shrivelled from the water in which it resided, met with a deathly glow in the faint green light of the cave. It caught Regulus about the elbow instantly, tugging him closer to the water's edge with surprising strength.

Without sending a ripple across the still water, a hand quickly turned into an arm before the ghostly face of a fallen soldier seemed to tower over him. Regulus couldn't comprehend what was happening; he wanted to scream, but his throat seemed to fail him in the wake of his undying thirst, clenched unbearably tight so that nothing but a gasp escaped his mouth. The inferisurrounded him, engulfing him in their cold, treacherous grasp and pulling him into the water. Weighed down by the hands that clung heavy as if of stone and so utterly undetermined to release him, Regulus was fighting a losing battle. He could barely struggle, their strength unrelenting. He could feel the cold water consuming his feet, his knees, the lower half of his torso…

_**Lay me down**_

_**Let the only sound**_

_**Be the overflow**_

Regulus finally got what he desired. He had little more than a moment to steal a last breath before water crept into his lungs, crashing like waves against his senses. He drunk it in like it was life itself, but he knew it meant otherwise. His heart was screaming, his limbs thrashing against the clawing hands of the inferi. The green glow that clung to the water's surface was barely visible from beneath it and though he felt the icy touch of death encircling him, he saw little but the outline of those whose fate he'd joined. Regulus' last thought was of his brother. _Sirius._ That maybe he'd stand a better chance at ending the war than he. But then darkness fell upon him. So suddenly, so silently… As if he'd merely slipped through a veil to find Death awaiting him on the other side.

'_**Cause they took your loved ones **_

_**But returned them in exchange for you**_

_**But would you have it any other way?**_

_**Would you have it any other way?**_

_**You couldn't have it any other way**_

_**I let the water take me. **_

_**RAB**_


End file.
